


Photographs Under Cover

by krowe (k_rowe)



Series: Mission Report [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Celebrities, M/M, Mild Language, Paparazzi, Secrets, Tabloids, alfred ships it, exposed secrets, rainfall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:26:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7694767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k_rowe/pseuds/krowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shared kiss in the rain gets leaked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photographs Under Cover

**Author's Note:**

> Submission for Jaytimweek2016 Days 4 and 7: Photography and Undercover

**Photography and ~~Undercover~~ Under Cover**

 

The emotive sigh of Tim’s previously quiet companion distracted Tim from one of his favorite parts of _Anansi Boys._ Knowing Dick’s little outburst to be more like the first beep in an escalating alarm clock than a spontaneous blip; Tim folded the corner on the page he was reading and closed the book across his chest. And trained his peeved expression on Dick, who wore it with grace. Dick was draped over one arm of Bruce’s armchair, nose in his phone either throwing poke balls or scrolling down some social media feed. From his angle Tim couldn’t tell. Dick must have known he got Tim’s attention because he looked up from his phone at Tim mournfully.

“Yes, Dick?” prompted Tim.

“Do you even remember why you’re in those crutches?” Together they looked at the pair of abused crutches resting against the arm of the chaise Tim was lying on.

Tim exhaled through his teeth with a twinge of bitterness. “To protect the secret.”

“From?” said Dick solicitously.

“Vicki Vale.”

“And she is?”

_Nosy. Clever. Pushy. Obstinate. Smart. Pretty. A pain in my ass._ Tim shut his eyes tightly and summoned patience for Dick’s own nosy obstinacy. No, that wasn’t fair. Tim disconnected one corner of his attention and wondered what stimuli had triggered an unconscious antagonism toward _Dick_ of all people. “She’s a rep—”

“—a reporter!” chimed Dick. “And what do reporters do that we don’t want them to do?”

Tim winced. “I know we haven’t seen _lots_ of each other lately but I’m not a kid anymore. Just tell me what I did.”

Dick chucked his phone at Tim, who caught it deftly. “Looks like a rookie mistake to me,” he said coolly.

When the screen righted in Tim’s hand he saw himself. Tim didn’t realize it though. The young man was smartly dressed in something trendy Tim Wayne owned; his haircut was shorter in the back than Tim’s; notable because there was another young man in the picture— taken from the far side of a familiar gingko tree in the best, most stereotypical way that stalkers did— another boy whose fingers cupped the shorter boy behind the neck. Tim looked cursorily at the second person but the umbrella he held and the other body's proximity to him largely obscured his features. Except, Tim zoomed in, from the angle the paparazzi captured, Tim recognized the studs in the taller boy’s ears. He’d just given a pair like that to Jason the other night— Tim bolted upright, dumping Dick’s phone and his book onto the floor. He ran both hands down the back of his neck, to be sure.

The unfamiliar tickle of ruffling short hair sent a chill all the way down Tim’s spine. “I got a haircut,” he said anxiously. Tim looked to Dick as if for confirmation but Dick only stared back at Tim with disbelief. Tim swung his feet off the chaise and scrambled for the phone again.

The shorter boy’s fingers twined in the collar of the other man’s jacket, pulling him down into an open mouthed kiss, the suggestion of a tongue in the breath between them. With a modest blush Tim noticed that the taller boy’s other hand was low on shorter’s butt, visibly clutching boy that looked like Tim close to his body.

Of the two “Tim’s” face was the better-captured one, his feelings of sublime writ in the tension between his dark brows; in the dusting of pink in his cheeks, his desire in his half-lidded blue eyes; his ache in the tremble of one scarred lip. Tim instinctively touched the same scar on his own face. Then he stroked the blurry pixels that approximated a tall red head with undetermined eye color, soft lips and a damn fine jaw. _I know that jaw._

“Yeah, all right, give that back,” Dick swiped the phone right out of Tim’s fingers. He looked at the screen, at Tim, at the screen with visibly increasing discomfiture. “Do you… know what that was?”

_It was our moment._ Tim had worked late and when Jason suggested it, Tim had been pleased that Jason came to pick him up. Having arrived during business hours, Tim had been chauffeured by Alfred, but the temptation to be smuggled out in a rainstorm on Jason’s motorcycle had seemed so thrilling at the time. Tim had even taken the time to loop security feeds for the duration of their exit and planned the time around grounds security sweeps. They’d only stopped in the courtyard because Jason wanted a cigarette, Tim figured they had the time and the rain had let up some. In the misty gloom, alone together under the smudged stars and clouds of pollution, the gardens seemed safe. Jason had smoked between responses in a conversation Tim couldn’t remember anymore. Someone had said something romantic and they’d shared a minute’s kissing before moving on. Ruefully, Tim supposed one of the guards must have also stopped for a cigarette break. “Someone’s big break into the competitive world of skeevy gossip mongering. ”

“Tim, this is serious.”

“Shit. I mean shoot. I know. We were—”

“Careless?” supplied Dick.

“ _Alone.”_

Something between pity and derision in Dick’s eyes made Tim feel very small. “Tim, I know how _exciting_ it is right now. And I know we can’t help who makes us feel that way. But this isn’t just about you. It’s not fair but we all have to sacrifice.”

“Are you telling me to break up with Jason?”

“No. Of course not. But I am asking you to be smarter. You can’t be seen tonging in the arms of your dead brother.”

The indecency of Dick’s truth made Tim's blush deepen. But he rallied weakly. “You can’t even tell who he is.”

“Vale knows. Or she’ll put it together soon enough. You can bet on that. She’s not going to stop coming after us. Through you.”

Anger and injustice flared up in Tim. He looked away from Dick, couldn't face him, and saw the crutches leaning near him. It was petty, really. But he _hated_ those crutches. What they _meant._ Lies, lies, lies. They were so offensive and a waste of time; Vale had cornered Tim shortly after his “attempted assassination” and dropped revulsion at Tim’s “cute try” and probed about Red Robin’s known association with one shape-shifting Miss Martian. At the memory Tim lashed out and knocked his crutches over. They banged together on the ground. The sound drew Alfred into the parlor.

“Master Tim, are you well?”

_No. Can’t run, can't_ walk _outside_ _, can’t drive a car in anything less than a cowl, can’t be with Jason in public— hell— not even under an umbrella in the pouring rain outside at night when nobody was around hidden by trees!_ “Apparently I shamed the Wayne name and compromised Batman’s mission when I kissed my—” Tim’s heart skipped twice. “Kissed Jason."

Dick cut in. "That's not what I said."

Tim turned a weary scowl on Dick. “I kissed him on. Private. Wayne. Property. We were _alone._ It wasn’t careless.”

"But it was seen,” said Dick lowly.

“I was _human_ for one goddamn minute, Dick.”

Tim closed his eyes and made a guilty expression of inarticulate apology. Dick didn’t deserve that. He opened his eyes and started to frame his contrition, but Alfred gave Tim his very best delicately raised eyebrow. “You must be referring to your romantic rendezvous crudely disseminated by ravenous consumers of titillating gossip,” he said in his dry way.

Tim’s forehead fell heavily into his palms and he groaned.

“Have no fear Master Tim.” Alfred smiled encouragingly, by the sound of his transformed voice. “The might of Wayne Enterprise’s formidable publicity department is hard at work on your behalf.”

Tim mumbled something so quietly Alfred and Dick both leaned in a little, as if they expected to be able to make it out.

“Pardon me, sir?”

“Is it so terrible?” he repeated louder. Tim looked up with pain twisting in his eyes. He saw that Dick looked wounded, like his guilt at his earlier callousness caught up with him.

“No, of course not,” said Dick emotionally. “It’s just… complicated. I’m sorry. I never had to deal with what you’re going through.”

“Well, if any more _reporters_ turn up I, Master Tim, will defer to your wishes. But if you don’t mind, I plan to tell anyone who asks, I ‘ship it’ as they say, and to bugger off. The heathens.”

The tension in the parlor was expelled when Tim and Dick burst into laughter. After a time Dick said, still warm with humor, “It's a pretty hot photo."

“Indeed,” said Alfred.


End file.
